“He certainly can be serious,” she thought; “but I’m sure he hates it. That laugh means either that he’s delighted to forget his momentary drop, or that he’s past master of the great national game of bluff. In his way he’s not uninteresting.”
CHAPTER XXX
SEVERAL days later she took Cecil to the redwoods. Mrs. Montgomery consented reluctantly—Lee had always been a little beyond her—but put up the lunch herself. They started early, for the weather was very warm, and as they rode hard there was little conversation, although both were in high spirits. When they reached the foothills they were obliged to slacken speed, and Cecil said:
“I feel exactly as if we had started out in search of adventures again. Let us hope there will not be a fog nor an earthquake.”
They had talked old times threadbare, and, after shuddering once more over that memory, Lee said: “The redwoods are just the place for stories of thrilling adventures with tigers and lions and things. As Coralie says, you are altogether too modest. I shall insist.”
“I don’t mind telling you anything you like; but to sit up by the hour and rot to other people about oneself—it’s too much like——”
“American brag?”
“Well, I don’t like to be rude, but that was what I meant. Of course there are exceptions,” he added hastily. “Take Mr. Trennahan, for instance. I have noticed that the American who has lived a good deal abroad neither brags nor is in any way provincial. And, as Montgomery says, the others have every excuse. They would have a right to be cocky about their country, if only on account of what Nature has done for it.”
“They are lovely, aren’t they?” Lee pointed her whip proudly to the forest above. It began on the next slope they ascended, straggling carelessly for a mile or more, then seemingly knit into a black and solid wall of many tiers. Presently the hills closed about them, the great arms of the mountain reached down on every side, its grass burnt golden, its redwoods casting long shadows, until their own shade grew too heavy. As the riders ascended higher, there was often, far down on one side of the road, a cañon set thick with the rigid trees, and cut with a blade of water; an almost perpendicular wall on the other. Finally, they passed the outposts, and entered a long steep avenue of redwoods leading to the depths of the forest.
“I never knew anything so intensely still, nor so solemnly beautiful,” said Cecil. “Couldn’t we come here for our honeymoon? Is there a house to be had?”